


i wish that we could see if we could be something (you're the nicest thing i've seen)

by jessicawhitly



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Pre-Canon, if you don't like the idea of Joyce sleeping with Hop behind Lonnie's back, this is not the fic for you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:53:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25693840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessicawhitly/pseuds/jessicawhitly
Summary: “Maybe I could come over one night. We could...catch up,” she suggests in a moment of likely-unwise bravery, and Hopper’s blue eyes search her face for a long moment- a flicker of heat sparks in them when he realizes just what she means, and he clears his throat.“Yeah. Maybe we could,” he replies, and Joyce feels an answering surge of warmth in her belly as she hands him his bags, his roughened fingertips brushing against hers briefly. “See ya 'round, Joy.”
Relationships: Diane/Jim "Chief" Hopper (mentioned), Joyce Byers/Bob Newby (mentioned), Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers/Lonnie Byers (mentioned)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	i wish that we could see if we could be something (you're the nicest thing i've seen)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Nicest Thing by Kate Nash, also what the title is from. I do not even remotely think this is close to something that happened in canon, I just listened to the song a lot and wanted to play around with some angst and symmetry. And I haven't written Joyce/Hopper in forever and needed something to jump start me back into ST fic!

Somehow, he’s taller than she remembers.

That doesn’t seem possible, because Jim Hopper had been the tallest kid in their 78 kid total graduating class and had seemed like a giant then, but now, nearly five years later, he seems to positively tower over her. Not in an overtly scary way, though- he still seems to go out of his way to be gentle with her, despite the golden death trap encasing her left ring finger she’d watched him clock as soon as she’d greeted him at the register.

“When’d you get back?” she finally manages to ask, because she’s sure she hasn’t seen him before this week- while he’d left Hawkins to fight a war, she’d never left the borders of the town, trapped in a marriage to a man who liked gambling more than his wife or his son.

“Coupla days ago. Settled into Dad’s old trailer,” he tells her, and she nods, remembering the place. “Spent all yesterday filling out paperwork at the station. Already made deputy.”

His nose crinkles in blatant amusement- the sheer nepotism of the Hawkins PD was no joke, and Joyce joins him in the mirth, ringing out his collection of frozen dinners and beer. He’d come back to Hawkins to two dead parents but a place to live and a ready-made job, and she could see the way the weight was already settling on his 23-year-old shoulders.

“Maybe I could come over one night. We could...catch up,” she suggests in a moment of likely-unwise bravery, and Hopper’s blue eyes search her face for a long moment- a flicker of heat sparks in them when he realizes just what she means, and he clears his throat.

“Yeah. Maybe we could,” he replies, and Joyce feels an answering surge of warmth in her belly as she hands him his bags, his roughened fingertips brushing against hers briefly. “See ya 'round, Joy.”

He leaves the store, bell jingling, and Joyce sits back on the stool, swallowing hard and crossing her legs, trying not to shiver in her thin tights and corduroy skirt. It had been a rare morning Jonathan had been easy to rouse and get to the babysitter’s, the two and a half year old having slept through the night easily and without nightmares, so Joyce had taken the occasion to do something with herself for work.

It wasn’t much- a skirt and sweater, half-hearted makeup and her hair swept half-up, little silver hoops from her grandmother before she’d died in her ears. But she’d felt Hopper’s eyes lingering on her when he’d walked into Melvald’s, and it had felt good- to feel seen.

Lonnie had barely taken the time to look at her for more than ten seconds since weeks before Jonathan had been born. Joyce isn’t dumb, or blind- she knows where Lonnie is spending their money and his time. It’s exactly why she’d asked Donald to start paying her in cash, and why she’d started keeping part of her paycheck in a shoebox in Jonathan’s nursery.

If it was possible, Lonnie somehow paid less attention to their son than he did to her, and Joyce still didn’t know what to do with all the sadness that gathered in her chest over it. And sadness wasn’t even the word- it was too small; too simple for the emotion that elicited in her at the knowledge that Jonathan already knew it was futile to attempt to get a bedtime story out of his father, and he was still months away from his third birthday.

It takes a few weeks, but the next time Lonnie was out of town- a smooth lie about a business opportunity that Joyce saw through easily- Joyce calls up the babysitter, asking if she could watch Jonathan for a few hours. She gets ready with shaking hands, smoking through three cigarettes in rapid succession as she stares at her threadbare closet, trying to find something even remotely sexy.

Finally, she settles on the outfit she’d been wearing when he’d walked into Melvald’s, but swaps the sweater for a thin, low-cut shirt she hadn’t worn since high school and a pre-pregnancy bra that was a little too tight, so it showed off her cleavage. She spares herself a glance in the mirror, and thinks she’s at least passable; the doorbell rings, signalling the babysitter, and hurries to answer.

She only doubts the plan once on the drive to where she knows Hopper’s father’s trailer is. The possibility he already has someone over is considerable, but she’d driven by the Hideaway and hadn’t seen the Blazer, so she thought her chances of finding him alone were decent. She stubs out her cigarette when she pulls up to the trailer, and takes a deep, calming breath as she smooths out her frizzy hair before climbing from her car and heads for the door.

Knocking, Joyce waits for him to answer; there’s a few heart-pounding moments of pause, and then Hopper wrenches the door open. He looks her up and down, interest growing in his face as he lifts an eyebrow.

“Horowitz,” he greets, and she purses her lips, folding her arms.

“Hop. Gonna invite me in?” she asks, and his face melts into an easy grin, stepping aside to allow her inside. The trailer has the air of a bachelor, messy and lived in even after only a few weeks, but Joyce doesn’t mind.

“Want a beer?” he asks, and Joyce swallows, taking another moment to consider before she turns to face him, dropping her purse onto his couch.

“We both know I’m not here to talk,” there's a bite to her words, and his eyebrows raise in interest as she pulls her shirt over her head, leaving her in just her skirt and her too-small bra, hair static-y around her hair but hopefully still alluring enough that she hasn’t embarrassed herself. While she hadn’t exactly been flat as a board in high school, having Jonathan had filled her out more than the last time Hopper had seen her, and she’s rewarded with the flush that crawls up his neck to redden his cheeks.

She sees his gaze travel to her hand, but she’d been smart- her ring was in the glove compartment of her car. Lonnie wouldn’t take tonight from her. He’d already taken so much; she deserved one night for _her_.

“You sure?” Hopper asks as he stands, his hands hovering just above the skin of her hips, the heat of him as intoxicating as a beer would have been. Joyce nods, inhaling unevenly and finding herself rewarded with Hopper’s signature scent of aftershave and cigarette smoke mixed with just a hint of whiskey and cinnamon.

“Yes,” she finally says when she realizes he’s waiting for verbal confirmation, and a part of her softens just a touch. Beneath the burly exterior beat the same soft heart she’d known her whole life, and as his mouth descended to hers she wonders if letting him go all those years ago had really been the right choice.

_

It becomes a habit.

It is terrifyingly easy to sneak around in Hawkins, Joyce finds, and she spends a significant number of her lunch breaks with Jim Hopper in the back of his Hawkins police Blazer. The rest of autumn passes; Jonathan turns three, and Lonnie misses the party, showing up two days later reeking of liquor and cheap perfume, waving a lotto ticket like it’s gold, claiming the two hundred bucks it’ll bring in will solve all their problems.

Joyce can barely stand the sight of him, and forces him onto the couch. She thinks of Hopper, sprawled out on the bed only twelve hours prior, and knows it isn’t possible to still smell him- she’d changed the sheets and lit a candle- but still buries her face in the pillow, pretending.

It’s been six weeks of sneaking around, and they’re in his bed, skin still sticky and breathing still being caught.

“I have a date,” there’s a slight pause after his words, and Joyce blinks, staring up at the ceiling as she processes. “With Diane Seymour. The new teacher in town.”

It makes sense. Joyce had seen her around- she seemed nice, and she was beautiful and blonde.

“Oh,” is all Joyce can get herself to say, her brain stuck on the image of Hop and Diane together. She’d known whatever they were doing had an expiration date- she was married, after all. She feels him shift to look at her, the bed moving beneath her, but she keeps her eyes on the water stain on the patch of ceiling above her.

“It’s just a first date, Joy,” he says, and that’s when Joyce turns her head, her smile a little sad, but genuine enough.

“I hope you have fun,” is how she replies, before she slips from the still-warm sheets, tugging her jeans up over her hips and searching for her bra, feeling his eyes on her as she moves around the room.

She sees them out a few days later; she’s pushing Jonathan in his stroller down Main Street, and the two of them are walking out of the diner. Diane laughs, high and bright, and Joyce stops, simply watching them. Hopper looks happy- relaxed and content in a way she hasn’t seen since high school, and something in her chest twists.

Joyce can never give him that; can never walk down Main Street and hold his hand or lay her head on his shoulder. Their relationship was relegated to backseat hookups and late night phone calls and clandestine meetings. And he deserved this- deserved more than what she could give him.

She’d always been good at giving up the things she wanted most.

_

The afterglow hasn’t even faded when Joyce speaks, shattering the carefully crafted illusion they’ve built together in the weeks following Will’s rescue.

“I have a date,” the words feel like bricks stacking on his chest, and he swallows hard, staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh?” is all he can get out, struggling hard to keep his voice light and free from the emotions threatening to clog his throat.

“With...uh, with Bob Newby. Remember, from high school? He just opened a Radio Shack in town,” her voice has a nervous edge to it, and he can feel her picking at a loose thread on the bedspread.

He hadn’t realized what they’d been doing had even had an expiration date; had only been a placeholder. He’d thought maybe they’d been building toward something bigger this time; that maybe they’d both been ready to do it right.

Swallowing hard, he gets out of bed, and begins to redress. He can feel her eyes on him, but he doesn’t have the words she needs to hear- doesn’t even know what she wants him to say. They’d been doing this dance for weeks- her calling him when the boys weren’t home, showing up at his trailer late at night. Hopper thought maybe they’d been slowly building towards something; he’d been following at her pace, waiting for Joyce to be ready for something more than these clandestine meetings.

“It’s just a first date, Hop,” he looks up at her soft words, sparking the memory of saying exactly that himself over a decade ago to her. She’s looking at him with wide, anxious eyes, her bottom lip between her teeth and the sheets clutched to her chest, shoulders hunched as she watched him.

Somewhere south of his chest aches, and he swallows his feelings down deep. Leaning forward, he presses his lips to her forehead briefly before he straightens back up, finishing buttoning up his shirt.

“Have fun, Joyce,” is all he says, because he knows how first dates go. And maybe this is what she needs- something easy. Something solid; something without all their strings and history and the memory of everything they went through last year. Maybe what they have is too expansive and large and heavy to ever be more than this.

She deserved the chance to find out if that was what she wanted. It wasn’t his place to stop her.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment, drinking in the way the moonlight caught her messy brunette hair- it had finally started to grow out, nearly brushing her shoulders, and in that moment Joyce Byers was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Call me if you need anything,” is all he says before he turns the doorknob, and there’s some kind of finality to shutting the door behind him.

He sees her a few days later, sitting on the bench outside Melvald’s with Bob Newby, and there’s a lightness to her he hasn’t seen in awhile; an easy laugh leaves her lips, and the ache in his chest returns along with a punch to his gut. Maybe he’ll never be able to give her that; maybe he’s never been meant to.

But he’d like to have been able to try, he thinks as he pushes the Blazer further down Main Street, trying to erase the image from his head. But Joyce’s smile is emblazoned in his head, and he finds he can’t let that go. It softens the hurt; gives it dull edges, sinking like a stone in his belly rather than a razorblade.

He’d always liked her smile a little too much.


End file.
